Screwed Up Again
by DelaVega209
Summary: Dean screws up and Sam pays the price. This story deals with the aftermath, mostly between John and Dean.


_Just a oneshot of the Winchester clan because I love the dynamics between John and the boys. _

_Disclaimer: My name is not E. Kripke, so I don't own anything._

**Dean screws up and Sam pays the price. This story deals with the aftermath, mostly between John and Dean.**

John Winchester glanced in the rearview mirror at his youngest son sleeping in the back seat. Seeing that he finally seemed to be resting comfortably, he afforded a sidelong glance at his oldest son riding shotgun. That sight worried him quite a bit more. Dean stared blankly out the window into the inky darkness of the night.

"You alright?" John asked.

Dean looked around as if surprised, just catching his father out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah. Fine."

John let a silence build for a moment. "You know it wasn't your fault."

Dean turned back toward the window in disgust. "So you said."

For perhaps the hundredth time that day, John Winchester cursed his oldest son's stubborn insistence on not talking about anything that had to do with emotions. "Dean . . ." John let just a hint of his authoritative growl creep into his voice.

Even in the darkness John could see his son gulp. "Yes, sir?"

"He'll be fine. _We'll_ be fine. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

John knew that was going to have to suffice. He would watch his boy a little closer than usual for the next few days, vigilant for the telltale signs that Dean Winchester wasn't okay. For now, he let his twenty-seven year old slip his mask back into place and push another episode of guilt to wherever he kept them stored.

The small family arrived at Bobby Singer's junk yard early the next morning. Just a few days before, Bobby knew things were not going to end well when his old friend suddenly informed him he had to go after his boys. Now, seeing the pissed, strained expression on Dean's face and the brand new cast Sam sported, he knew he had been all too correct.

The eldest Winchester son dropped his duffle bag in the dining room without missing a step on his way to the fridge. He yanked the door open with more force than was absolutely necessary and plucked a bottle of beer from the top shelf. His younger brother hobbled into the kitchen on his brand new crutches just as Dean was tossing the bottle cap into the waste basket. Without a word Sam pulled the jelly from the refrigerator, setting it on the counter before going in search of the peanut butter.

Dean took a pull from his long neck. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, though his eyes betrayed the pain he was in.

"Look, Sammy, I . . ."

Sam's head snapped up to meet his older brother's eyes. "Don't, Dean. It was just a bad deal, 'kay? No one's fault."

Dean knew it wasn't true. It certainly didn't feel true. "Yeah, okay," he answered, then let it drop.

The head of the Winchester clan was more than a little concerned for his first born. As expected, Bobby demanded the play by play over dinner. It surprised everyone when, in the middle of Sam's half-hearted narrative, Dean suddenly up and left the table. Sam stopped abruptly, looking wide-eyed as all three men listened to Dean's noisy footsteps track through the den, then the laundry room. They all jumped involuntarily when the back screen door slammed shut.

John waited a full two hours before giving in to his parental instincts and seeking out his wayward oldest child. The boy wasn't difficult to find. Looking across the driveway, John saw the lights burning bright inside the run-down shop, just as the clatter of billiard balls met his ears. Silently stepping through the steel door, the worried father surveyed the scene. Close to a dozen beer bottles were lined up on the rail of the aging pool table. His son was endlessly chasing the cue ball, desperately trying to hold both the cue stick and a mostly empty bottle of whiskey at the same time. John stepped further into the large metal building to stand a few steps behind the young man.

"So you gonna tell me?" John asked, his arms crossed across his chest.

Dean didn't bother looking up from the combo shot he had lined out. "Tell you what?"

"What happened."

John saw the muscles of Dean's jaw ripple under the skin. "No, sir."

John couldn't hide his disappointment, even though his son's reaction was expected. Dean horribly missed his shot, muttered an inaudible obscenity, then straightened again to lift the bottle to his mouth. Before the warm amber liquid could touch his lips, his father reached out and removed the bottle from his hand.

"Think you've had about enough, Dean."

"Don't care what you think," Dean shot back without thinking.

John glared at him with a raised eyebrow. "Come again?"

Dean gulped but remained obstinately silent.

John heaved a sigh, taking the few steps to the bar stools along the wall and sitting down gently. "Have a seat," he motioned to the other stools next to him.

"I'm busy."

"I wasn't asking."

For a fraction of a second, he thought his usually obedient son was actually going to defy him. With a disgusted sigh, Dean threw the cue on the table and sulked to the bar stools.

"I said 'sit,' Dean."

The young man rolled his hazel eyes, and more leaned then sat on the cracked plastic, crossing his arms across his chest in silent protest.

"Start talking," John ordered.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Now it was John's turn to cross his arms. An annoyed look crossed his face before melting into irritated understanding. "Look, son, I know you did everything you could to keep your brother out of harms way."

When Dean made no attempt to either confirm or deny the statement, his father pushed harder. "Dean, we need to talk about this."

"Look, I messed up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I screwed up and Sam got hurt. Can we drop it now?"

John shook his head. "Not till I hear it from you."

"Hear what?" Dean was almost yelling, his frustration growing by the second.

"What. Happened."

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled a breath. He knew he had just been baited. "Dad . . ."

"Look. I know you feel guilty about what happened to Sam. But that doesn't change the fact that in order to help keep you boys safe in the future, I need to know what happened a few days ago."

Dean ran a shaky hand through his dark brown hair. "Alright. You win. Again." When the boy rose and started pacing the floor, John settled in for what promised to be a very lengthy and revealing narrative.

Rubbing his hands nervously, Dean began. "Well, you had already taken off for California after that Lady in White thing. By the way, how did that turn out?"

John shot his son an impatient glare. "Dean . . ."

"Alright, alright. Sam had gotten a lead on the demon."

John's expression suddenly became very serious. "Wait. _The_ demon?"

Dean had the grace to look sheepish. "Yes, sir."

John felt anger starting to rise and he tamped down on it. "That thing is one evil son of a bitch, Dean. You knew better. I told you boys not to play around with it."

Again the young man couldn't bring himself to look his father in the eyes. He knew he would only find disappointment there. "I know. But we had to move. I know you don't want me and Sammy in that fight, but . . ."

"You're right, I don't! I thought we discussed this, Dean."

Dean felt indignant anger at being treated like an amateur hunter. He was, after all, a seasoned professional. "Me and Sam aren't exactly newbies, Dad! We've taken down some pretty serious stuff."

"Not like this you haven't!"

Dan whirled around, his hazel green eyes dark with rage. "And you wonder why I didn't want to talk about this? I don't need to know how I screwed up, Dad, I had that figured out days ago!"

John bit back the sharp reply that came instantly to his mind and instead took a deep, cleansing breath. "Alright. I think you had better start at the beginning.


End file.
